I stepped into, I stepped into . . . Into another world, apparently. Before going to bed, I wanted to link to this post (which deserves some wide reading despite what follows here; click the links therein, particularly to John Cole; note, too, how the falsehood spreads). But the house was a shambles (we got some new windows yesterday, more today) and my dogs were barking, so I had a wee dram and hit the sack instead. End of story? No way.

I had this dream. In this dream, the internet was not a virtual/cyber/whateverness but an actual physical construct. In order to link to Jeff's post, Razor, Flyer, and I had to personally visit Jeff's site, which was being hosted in a small lakeside town in New Jersey (I know the one. --ed) in the house of a very weathy (and frequently very drunk) funeral-home heiress who insisted on being chauffeured about in a hearse by her Mexican gardener -- who was also her lover. After some wanderings through the house, we met up with Jeff and established the link. After we'd paid him (that bitch!) he offered to drive us back home. He had a sports car with five front seats, arranged in a semicircle, and it was rather fast. And he's a terrible driver.

Your guess is as good as mine. For what it's worth, I read most of chapter 3 of A House for Mr. Biswas before kipping last night, so aside from the odd car thing, Sir Vidiadhar may be mostly to blame here.